Hot Chocolate
by Tamarai
Summary: Anna has insomnia and is hungry, when she goes to the kitchen for a late night snack, she has an encounter with the man she's been avoiding. HANSANNA ONESHOT


**Hot Chocolate**

SFW hansanna oneshot. Set in an AU where Hans is married to Elsa in a marriage of convenience neither wants as their attractions lie elsewhere. One night, Anna has insomnia and is hungry, when she goes to the kitchen for a late night snack, she has an encounter with the man she's been avoiding.

* * *

The kitchens were dark, the household quiet in the still of the night. Anna was the only one up, and it was a small comfort. She lit a few lamps from memory, bringing the kitchen dimly to light. She just needed to see the countertop and stove, no sense in lighting all the lamps. Her stomach gurgled just as the clock in the hall chimed two in the morning.

She hadn't been sleeping well for weeks. Not since—

She sighed. She didn't want to think of it anymore. It was best to forget it had ever happened. Dwelling on it wouldn't be good for either of them. Still, she knew she couldn't keep on like this. The insomnia. The pining.

The guilt.

She went to the ice box and larder, quickly fetching what she would need—bread, milk, cheese, meat, chocolate. Food was a comfort. Her stomach rumbled again. Food was a _necessity_. Even if she wanted to try and sleep, she'd been awake long enough that her stomach would not let her sleep. Hunger had to be dealt with first.

And that was okay, she decided. It would keep her mind busy and off of other _things_. Things that had kept her up in the first place. Things that ate away at her just as surely as she'd gobble down the sandwich she was about to make.

She got the stove fire burning, stoking it, not too high and not too hot, just like Gerda had shown her, when a sound from the doorway startled her. She looked up to see him standing there in the kitchen. Neither said a word.

She watched him swallow, that pale, bare throat far too enticing in the dim light. She was all too aware of the open collar, of where the freckles on his shoulders started midway on his clavicles, and flashes of him jumped forth in her mind. The sounds he'd made. The way he had smelled. The way he had tasted. The salt on his skin punctuated with notes of spice and sin. He'd smelled like cloves and charcoal that night, earthy and peppery, intoxicating as hell, and had tasted just as good. The memory remaining where the marks on his throat had not.

"Anna—"

"I don't have anything to say to you." She was pleased with how steady her voice sounded as she turned back to her task, ignoring him. She was here to eat and then return to her quarters. Not hash things out with Hans. It was best to forget it had ever happened. That _they_ had ever happened.

Wordlessly, he moved further into the kitchen, stopping beside her. He reached for the loaf of bread when she was finished with it, his arm almost grazing hers. So careful not to touch. The rumbling sound of his stomach caught her off guard. He was up and hungry too. Was it because of her? Of what they had done? Was he just as haunted by their actions as she was?

They hadn't spoken since that night.

She stiffened when his elbow bumped into hers. It was brief, accidental, but enough to make her stomach flutter and loins ache. Trying her best to ignore the way her body lit up whenever he was near, she began to chop the bar of chocolate. The sound of her knife slamming down on the cutting board broke up the awkward silence between them. A desperate need for both of them. The chocolate cracked under the knife in weird sized chunks, bits flying off here and there.

"Jesus! Let me before you cut yourself," he finally said as her knife slipped and hunk of chocolate landed on the floor. He nudged her over, the side of his hip knocking against hers. The jolt of attraction strong. She released the knife into his grip and he began to mince her chocolate. His hands were nimble, his knife precise, and Anna was only reminded of just how skilled those hands were. Where their real talents lay.

She tore her eyes away from him, from those beautiful hands, and grabbed the milk, pouring it into the saucepan while he continued to chop. This close, she could smell the faint scent of cloves mingled with his skin, masculine and inviting, the scent of chocolate replacing the charcoal.

She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, keep to her resolve. Oh, how she wanted to sink into his embrace again. Taste his mouth, feel his hands on her thighs, pushing her nightgown up to her hips, lifting her up onto this countertop and—

The knife stopped.

"What are we even making?" he asked. His eyes on the cutting board, and not on her.

_We_, he'd said, and she sighed. "Hot chocolate." She took the knife and cutting board of chocolate from him, scraping the uniform pile of the minced confection into the saucepan. She turned away from him to the stove, placing the pot on the heat, and began to stir the milk and chocolate steadily.

He was behind her again, close enough that she could feel the heat of his skin and bask in his scent, hovering and unsure. The unmistakeable air of longing in each breath he took.

"Anna—" he tried again, this time his fingers lightly caressing her hip.

"She's my sister."

"It's not her I love," he whispered. "And she doesn't love me…" He paused. "I'm not even sure she likes men, to be honest."

It didn't matter. Whether Elsa's preference was women, whether the marriage was one of convenience. Hans still belonged to Elsa, and Anna had had no right. No right at all to do what she had done with him.

"You're not mine."

"I could be." His lips teased her ear lobe. "I want to be."

And in that moment, she was instantly back in time. Back to three weeks earlier when she'd found him alone in his study, sketch pad in his lap, charcoal in his hand, body bent forward and engrossed in his art. She'd accidently snuck up on him, the deep charcoal line marring his sketch when his hand slipped at the sound of her voice. She'd apologized, the words awkward and clumsy. He'd laughed, anxious yet genuinely pleased to see her. It had all been put into motion then.

She'd never been to his study before. She wasn't allowed. It wasn't proper. Elsa's new husband was not a man she should have been interested in. She was not supposed to find him handsome or charming. Her heart was not supposed to skip a beat when she saw him enter a room or when he'd smile at her. And yet, Hans had managed to capture her attention and heart on sight.

Elsa had no interest in him and never would, it was true. Everything he'd said was true, but it didn't mean that what they had done was right. It didn't mean that she should have been seeking him out that evening while Elsa was otherwise engaged with her lady in waiting.

The charcoal from his hands never had fully washed out of her stockings. She'd hidden that pair away at the back of her wardrobe. His handprints still there. The stains of their guilt, evidence of their crime, right there on her underclothes, and still she couldn't find it in herself to destroy the stockings. Pretending they had never happened. Because deep down, she wanted to remember it.

She didn't want to forget him, and evidently, Hans was not so keen to forget her. The fingers that had been playfully caressing her hip had inched their way down and forward, playfully caressing _elsewhere_.

"Hans," she gasped his name, pleasure zipping through her as she nearly spilled the saucepan of milk and chocolate she was supposed to be stirring gently. "The hot chocolate."

He tamed his fingers, barely backing off from their target and Anna exhaled, again trying to compose herself.

"Were you thinking of us?" he asked, and Anna caught a note of desperation in his voice. "Is that why you're up at this hour?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "I was thinking of us. It's all I've been able to think about, you know."

"I was thinking I was hungry," she replied tartly, but made no effort to pull away from him.

"Can I have some?" he asked. "I've never had it before."

Anna frowned. "Hot chocolate? You've never had hot chocolate?"

He shook his head no, the movement tickling her neck and cheek as one of his sideburns scratched against her skin. A small purr of approval escaped her throat.

"Yeah," she answered, taking the finished hot chocolate off the heat. "But you're making your own sandwich."

They moved back to the counter, side by side again, making their sandwiches in a strange sort of tandem as though their bodies just knew each other's so well. The quiet heat between them undeniable. A brush of fingers here, a bumping of arms there, a soft smile, a pleasant sigh.

Sandwiches and drinks in hand, they sat across from each other in the small corner table the cooks took their breaks at. Their knees touched, their eyes locked, and as they sipped hot chocolate together in the dimly lit kitchen, Anna knew the night would end with her in his bed.


End file.
